


twenty questions

by sheisraging



Series: little windows [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Painting, Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheisraging/pseuds/sheisraging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky looks at the paintbrushes Steve rolls nervously between his hands, at the box now sitting on the coffee table. He brushes his fingertips over the star. “You want to paint my arm?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	twenty questions

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks, as always, to [Ignited](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ignited/pseuds/ignited) for the beta.
> 
> This takes place before all of the other stories in the series so far!

It starts on a grey day.

Rain comes down in sheets against the windows, thunder and flashes of lightning occasionally cracking through the sky. Bucky frowns at the window. Slouching into the sofa, he pulls his feet up onto the cushion and curls his knees against his chest. He tugs a blanket around his shoulders, clicks on the TV, but finds the noise of the storm and the sounds of the program too much, so he mutes it and watches in silence, absently picking at the chipped red star on his left arm.

A few minutes go by before Bucky hears Steve cautiously padding down the hall. He drags his bare feet on the hardwood as he walks, always making just enough noise to let Bucky know he’s coming. 

"Hey, Buck." Steve's voice hovers the line between question and greeting. It’s just enough to make Bucky turn.

Steve shuffles from one foot to another, clutching a few paintbrushes in one hand and holding his paint box in the other.

Bucky raises a curious eyebrow at him. “I don’t bite, Steve.”

“I know, sorry.” Steve lets out a breath and drops down beside him on the sofa. “I was thinking maybe I could try something.”

He gestures at where Bucky’s fingernails have stilled over the cracked red paint.

Bucky looks at the paintbrushes Steve rolls nervously between his hands, at the box now sitting on the coffee table. He brushes his fingertips over the star. “You want to paint my arm?” 

“No, well, I mean—” Steve’s cheeks go slightly pink. He ducks his head, shrugging a bit and then looks back up at Bucky and sighs. “You’ve been kind of chipping away at it and it’s something I can do. Well… try to do, at least."

“So you want to fix the star,” Bucky says, flattening his right palm over the five faded points.

“No, you jerk, I want to take it off and replace it with something you don’t sit around picking at all day,” Steve snaps. 

Bucky bites his lips to keep himself from grinning when Steve’s eyes grow wide. Dropping the paintbrushes into his lap and dragging his hands over his face, Steve shakes his head and huffs. “I’m sorry, Buck. It was a stupid idea.”

He stands up, sending the paintbrushes tumbling to the floor. 

“Steve.”

“Shit.” Steve’s muttering, kneeling on the floor and reaching under the sofa to collect the scattered brushes.

“Steve,” Bucky says, louder. “Stop it.”

Steve sits back on his knees, resting his arms on the sofa cushion and shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Bucky tugs at Steve’s arm. “And come back up here. I told you I don’t bite.”

Steve scoops up the paintbrushes and slides back onto the sofa.

They stare at each other silently for a moment before Bucky rolls his eyes and shrugs the blanket off his shoulders. He wedges one of the throw pillows under his arm and looks at Steve, whose expression is somewhere between shock and glee.

“Put your legs up here so I have something to lean on,” Bucky says.

Steve practically leaps into motion. He grabs the paintbox from the table and flips open the lid, taking out a small jar before pulling his legs up onto the sofa and tucking them under the pillow Bucky is leaning on. 

It takes while for Steve to remove the star completely, but when it’s finally gone, Bucky feels a bit like a weight’s been lifted from him. Or like a set-in stain has been removed… which it has, he figures. Steve cleans and dries the metal until it shines, and then rests his hand on Bucky’s upper arm, thumb swiping back and forth across the now empty plates. 

“What should I paint?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky stares down at his arm, brings his right hand up and traces his fingers into the space between Steve’s. 

“Could just leave it—”

“No.” Bucky clamps his hand over Steve’s. “No, I’m just… could you maybe surprise me?”

Steve nods, smiling as he links their fingers and squeezes briefly. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

Bucky rests his head against the back of the sofa while Steve begins to paint.

“Is it gonna be a symbol or something?” Bucky asks after a few quiet minutes go by.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh, not looking away from his work. “I thought you said surprise you.”

“Yeah, just… curious is all. Maybe I can guess before you finish.”

From the corner of his eye, Bucky can see Steve sit up. “Is that a challenge?” he asks. 

Bucky grins. “I mean, if you think you’re too obvious—”

“Twenty Questions,” Steve says, “You get twenty questions to figure it out. Yes or No answers only. If you don’t get it in twenty, you have to leave it on your arm for a week. No matter what.”

“What if I get it in twenty or less?” Bucky counters.

Steve shrugs. “Then you get to decide if I have to start over or if you want to keep it.”

Bucky reaches across with his right hand. “Deal.”

\---

Bucky somehow manages to guess the yellow smiley face in eleven questions, but he leaves it on his arm until the paint starts flaking off in the shower. 

Steve painting his arm becomes a regular thing. Sometimes Bucky will have a special request, but usually, he likes the Twenty Questions game, lets Steve come up with something and has fun trying to figure out what it is before he hits the limit. 

Sometimes it’s easy to guess - The Wonder Wheel on the night they get back from roaming around Coney Island, autumn leaves on the first day of Fall, cartoon characters when they sit around watching Looney Tunes in the morning. 

There’s one month where Steve goes full wise-ass and starts branding him with logos. Starbucks, AT&T, General Electric — any brand with a circular logo is pretty much fair game. 

After walking around with the Burger King logo on his arm for a week, “Is it a logo?” becomes a standard question and Bucky manages to guess them all before hitting twenty. 

A few days before Christmas, Steve paints mistletoe and Bucky guesses it in six questions — a record best. 

Steve kisses the tips of his fingers and then gently presses them just beneath the drying paint. “Tradition,” he shrugs.

Bucky smiles when he sees the color rise in Steve’s cheeks. 

Over the next few weeks, he wears short sleeves around the apartment as often as possible. Steve presses a kiss to his fingertips and then to Bucky’s arm every time the mistletoe is visible. Bucky keeps that painting until all that’s left is just a faint outline. 

\---

“Twenty Questions or do you have something in mind?” Steve asks as he works at removing a two-week-old painting from Bucky’s arm. 

Bucky watches Steve’s hands for a moment, sad to see the traditional tattoo-style swallow being edged away, but ready all the same. “Twenty Questions,” he says. 

Steve nods, spends a few more minutes swiping away before setting the cloth aside and reaching for his paints and a brush. 

Bucky rests his head against the back of the sofa and closes his eyes as Steve starts dabbing color onto his arm.

“Is it a logo?” 

Steve chuckles. “I haven’t even started yet.”

Bucky shrugs his right shoulder and smiles, “Getting a head start.” 

“No.” Steve grins, not looking up as he draws the brush across the plates of Bucky’s arm. “Not a logo.”

“A mermaid?”

“Nope.”

“A flower?”

“Uh-uh.”

“A heart?” Bucky smiles, slants his eyes toward Steve who’s still focused on the paint.

“Not a heart,” Steve replies softly.

Bucky watches him quietly for a moment. “A kiss?” 

Steve’s hand stops moving and Bucky can see the little crinkle in his brow when he looks up. “What would that look like?” 

Steve turns to rinse off his brush. Bucky breathes slowly, waiting for Steve to finish and turn back around. He then leans forward and presses his lips to Steve’s. It’s soft at first, just a touch, then Bucky combs his hand through Steve’s hair, tugging Steve’s bottom lip between his. The paintbrush goes clattering to the floor, one of Steve’s hands curves around Bucky’s neck, the other loops around his waist and pulls him close. 

They pull apart, breathless. Steve keeps his eyes closed, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. For a few seconds, they’re just quiet, breathing against each other. Bucky leans back, places his palm over Steve’s heart and grins when he feels it pounding furiously in his chest. 

He cups Steve’s jaw, gently tilting his head up. Steve opens his eyes, smiles.

Bucky thought he’d have so much to say, but he takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and all that comes out is, “…Yeah?”

Steve’s smile grows wide, crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, he nods, and says, “Yeah.”

\---

“Is iiiittt… a cartoon character?” Bucky asks, hand over his eyes.

“Nope,” Steve responds. “That’s twelve.”

Bucky can tell he’s smiling.

“A flag?”

“Nope. Thirteen.”

Bucky huffs. “Isn’t this supposed to be Twenty Questions? Don’t I get clues?”

“You know you ask that every time… that’s not how Twenty Questions works, Buck.”

“Weren’t those questions?” Clint asks from the sofa opposite them. 

“Shut up and eat your Happy Meal,” Bucky says, lifting one finger from his eyes to cast a quick scowl.

Steve pauses and looks up from Bucky’s arm, “Hey, no peeking.”

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbles, covering his eyes and turning his head away.

“What are you guys doing, exactly?” Clint asks, around a mouth full of chicken nuggets.

“I paint something on Bucky’s arm and he gets twenty questions to guess what it is or he has to leave it there for a week.”

“And what happens if he guesses it in less than twenty?”

“Then I have to start over.” Steve shrugs.

“Is this why you always have such random stuff in your arm?” Clint asks. “I thought you were trying to make some kind of statement.”

Bucky turns to respond only to wind up getting his head smacked. 

“I said no peeking.”

“You smack me again, Rogers, you’re gonna pay for it later.”

“That a promise?” Steve asks, smirking.

“Oh, no guys, please, I’m eating here,” Clint begs before Bucky can reply. Bucky settles for flipping the bird in Clint’s general direction. 

“Is it… your dick?” Bucky asks with a wry grin.

“Fourteen. Why would I paint my dick on your arm?” Steve murmurs, leaning in close to add detail lines. 

“Clint’s dick?” 

“Wha-why?” Clint yelps.

“I’m not familiar enough with Clint’s dick to paint it. Fifteen,” Steve answers mildly.

“Enough?” Clint huffs. “At all. You’re not familiar at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Well we just know that one thing.”

“Oh, right… that thing with the–” Bucky tilts his head back and makes a vague gesture.

“Hey, what the fuck–I don’t—” Clint tries to interject.

“Yeah–keep still.” Steve pushes Bucky’s head back up. “But that’s just, you know…”

“Not enough for a painting, I guess,” Bucky concludes.

“You guys are fucking with me,” Clint states, but he drops his food, digs his phone out of his pocket and begins furiously tapping away. 

“Five questions left, Buck,” Steve says, rinsing a brush off and dabbing for a new color. “You give up?”

“I never give up,” Bucky scoffs. “Is it a logo?”

“Sixteen. You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” 

“You’re not the one who had to walk around with a Canada Goose logo on their arm for a week.”

Steve chuckles and shrugs. “Everyone had those logos on their arms. You fit right in!”

“Knew she didn’t tell you assholes anything,” Clint snickers when his phone starts vibrating back at him.

Bucky laughs. “Spoken by someone who _definitely_ has a weird dick.” 

Steve wrinkles his nose and nods. “Is it purple?”

“Does it have feathers?” Bucky feigns sympathy.

“Fuck you both,” Clint grumbles.

“Four questions,” Steve says, prodding Bucky’s ribs with the end of his paintbrush.

Bucky yelps but manages not to move away and ruin Steve’s work. “Is it an animal?”

“Seventeen. Nope.”

“Is it food?”

“Eighteen, and yes.”

“Oh, shit,” Bucky gasps, “Two left?”

“Yep.”

Bucky drums his fingers over his eyes while Steve rinses the brush again and dabs on another color. “Birthday cake was last week, so not that. Mmm… what did you eat earlier? A pizza?”

“Nope, and that’s nineteen. One more question and you’re out.”

“I know, I know.” Bucky sighs. “Can’t believe I wasted a question on Clint’s weird di–Hey!” He’s cut off when Clint starts tossing French fries his head.

“Watch it,” Steve warns. “Throw ‘em when I’m done.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees as he shoves the fries into his mouth. “Oh, is it French fries?”

“Twenty, and nope, but SO close.” 

“Fuuuuck.” Bucky sighs and drops his hand from his eyes. “Can I look?”

“Gimme onnnne sec,” Steve mumbles. He leans in and finishes up a line, then blows on Bucky’s arm a bit before leaning back to admire his work. “Okay, you’re done.”

Clint cackles and shakes his head as Bucky tilts his arm to get a look at the painting he’s stuck with for the week.

“A chicken nugget?” Bucky looks at Steve.

“Don’t forget the sweet and sour sauce. That’s my favorite part.” Steve smirks.

“Mmm, mine, too,” Clint says, licking said sauce off his fingers. 

\---

It’s a few days after Bucky’s first (un)official mission and things around the tower still have that slight edge of tension to them. He knows Steve isn’t angry, not with him anyway, but even in their apartment something feels slightly askew and Bucky can’t seem to shake it.

When he feels Steve start shifting, waking up for his morning run, Bucky rolls over and throws an arm over his waist, flopping half on top of him.

Steve lets out a quiet “Oof,” and a short chuckle. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. 

Bucky hums and tightens his arm around Steve’s waist. He holds tight until he feels Steve relax back into the mattress. 

“I’m guessing my run is not happening,” Steve mumbles, turning his face into Bucky’s hair.

“I think it’s better for everyone involved if you stay right here,” Bucky says, mouth pressed to Steve’s neck.

“Everyone involved?” Steve laughs, strokes Bucky’s hair. “We expecting guests?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Feel like everyone’s still pretty much on eggshells since the mission.”

Steve doesn’t say anything; instead, he just drags his fingers up and down Bucky’s spine. 

“Does it bother you that they asked me to go… that I was—”

“No,” Steve answers immediately and then sighs, rubbing his free hand over his face. “Yeah. It bothers me that they asked you, Buck, yes. You shouldn’t have to—”

“Steve, I know that. I said yes. Nobody held a gun to my head. Well, none of _them_ did anyway.”

“I know.” Steve’s arm tightens around Bucky’s back, tugging until Bucky lies on top of him, propping himself up on his forearms. He pushes Bucky’s hair back from his face and cups both his cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“You should do whatever you need to do,” Steve says when they part. “Whatever you _want_ to do. It’s not for me or anyone else to decide.” He shrugs. “I just like knowing you’re safe.”

Bucky’s turns his face into Steve’s palm and kisses it. “Okay.”

He presses his face to Steve’s chest and blows a raspberry. Steve jerks beneath him, laughing and locking his arms around Bucky’s back. 

“Ass.” Steve laughs, pushing Bucky’s head away. “You asked a serious question, I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Okay.” Bucky props himself up on his forearms again, “Did it bother you to see me in—”

“ _No._ ” Steve flips them so Bucky’s beneath him. “That had absolutely nothing to do with it, Buck. You have to know that.”

Bucky quietly traces his thumb across Steve’s cheek and nods. “Yeah, I just…”

Steve shakes his head then pushes away before he climbs out of the bed.

“Don’t,” he says when Bucky sits up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Bucky calls out, but Steve just waves at him, so he flops back against the mattress. 

Steve returns a moment later with his paints, a glass of water and a brush. 

“We’re doing Twenty Questions? _Now_?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve says, putting the brush between his teeth as he climbs back into the bed. “Sit up,” he says, scooting up next to Bucky and handing him the glass of water.

Bucky sits up and turns a bit so his arm is toward Steve. “Can you give me a hint as to what’s happening here?”

Steve takes the brush out of his mouth. “I’m painting your arm,” he says, as if he didn’t just jump out of the bed in mid-conversation in order to do so. 

Bucky stares at him for a moment and decides to see where it goes. He sets the glass on his thigh and gets comfortable as Steve swipes away the last traces of the fading Little Mermaid painting that had been there for the past week. 

“So I’m not supposed to guess?” Bucky asks after Steve’s been painting for a little while.

“Nope, you’ll see when I’m done,” Steve murmurs.

“Okay.” Bucky yawns. “…is it a logo?”

Steve laughs. “No.”

“An animal?”

“No.”

“Are you gonna tell me if I get it right?”

“Maybe.”

“Isn’t that against the rules?”

“We’re not playing right now.” Steve grins.

“So you’re just doing it for fun?”

“It’s multipurpose.” Steve leans back, dropping the brush into the glass of water Bucky’s still balancing on his thigh. “Don’t look yet,” he says, taking the glass from Bucky’s hand and putting it on the nightstand, along with the paints. 

Bucky watches him, amused. “Ready?”

Steve nods, settling beside him.

Bucky stretches his arm out, turning it until he sees the symbol Steve has painted there. 

“Steve—”

“It’s never something I’d be upset about, okay?”

Bucky nods, still looking at the image of Steve’s shield on his arm. “I wonder if there’s a way to make this one permanent.”

Steve grins. “We’ll find one.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on one that actually takes place before the final part of this particular story and fills in the details of what exactly happened there. Stay tuned! :D
> 
>  
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://sheisraging.tumblr.com) and be amazed at how many photos of Chris Evans I can reblog in one week!


End file.
